Clue
by Orrick
Summary: Someone has stabbed Professor Snape. Sheldon is there to find out who, but people aren't cooperating and nobody seems to take him seriously. He'll show them when he catches the killer, but who is it? He has no clue. Kind of a crackfic.


"Great party, Harry."

Harry sighed and rubbed his temples, trying to not look at Ron, who was currently trying to swallow what he assumed to be an entire potato chewed up to a grayish muck. "Thanks, Ron," was his only response, and the redhead nodded, turning slightly to gaze at some girls giggling in a corner.

The war had ended and most everyone had lived, which was great. Everything was great. He had asked Ginny to marry him, she accepted, and things seemed so surreal in how perfect they were. After living (and dying) in a world that was surrounded by evil, death, and sadness Harry couldn't help but feel dazed and overwhelmed by everything.

Of course, that didn't mean the drama llama was gone for good. Harry and four Ministry employees had spent a day stuffing Voldemort's body and hoisting it up in front of the building, a stone engraved with "This Is What Happens To Your Family If Defiance Is Evident" at the foot of Voldemort's corpse. That had gotten bad publicity, and Rita Skeeter had written a scathing article about it, complete with a picture of her posing with Voldemort. He looked kind of weird; they hadn't had time to get there before he started to rot and his eyes were gone, so they just put some red skittles in as placement. Still very scary and frightening.

Now Harry stood, in a handsome silver tux, in front of the refreshments, rubbing his eyes. Everyone had shown up to his party, even Snape, who they knew only came because Dumbledore threatened to shorten his pay. The dark, surly man took to wearing his robes really high up his neck to hide the bite marks forever etched in his skin. It didn't have anybody fooled, though, and Harry had put his memory of watching Snape slumping to the ground while being bitten by Nagini in a pensieve for anyone attending the party to view. It was the Weasley twins' job to keep Snape away from the pensieve and small crowd (line?) that had formed around it.

The party was closing, and Harry was just thinking about joining the mosh pit on the right side of the room when it happened.

_It happened._

"Snape is dead!"

"Severus?"

"My Gods, is he dead?"

"He's dead!"

"More beer?"

Harry rushed up to where the commotion was, pushing by people to get a better view, since he was short. His gasp died in his throat when he saw Snape on the floor, looking like an overturned cactus. A knife was stuck in his side, below his ribcage, and he had the stillness of someone who was dead.

Yep, the greasy git had offed it.

Harry reached out tentatively to touch his body but pulled back quickly, not sure why he had done this. Why he had reached forward- he knew why he had pulled back. Snape's black robes were bunched up on the floor around his ankles and wrapped around his body, making him look like a hideous bat. The scarlet puddle collecting on the floor began to creep towards some people's shoes, and they stepped back, hissing.

Harry coughed, turning to everyone at his party. "The party is now over, and I will be calling the Ministry so they can investigate. Everyone go home."

"No one is going home, I'm afraid."

The crowd parted as an unusually tall man walked forward, his gangly features making Harry think of a praying mantis. He wore a murky green plaid coat with a matching hat, a monocle on his left eye and a smoking pipe in his hand.

Harry had never seen this man in his life, nor did he ever invite him to his party. He turned to face the man. "Who are you? This building is warded, you can't get in here!"

The man smirked, taking a long drawl from his pipe. "My name is Dr. Sheldon Cooper, and I am here to investigate the death of Severus Snape."

Harry drew his wand, poking the man in the chest with the tip. "This is _my_ party, and _you're_ not invited. We're all leaving anyway. Get out!"

Harry was just mad because the man was tall.

Sheldon gingerly pinched Harry's wand between his index finger and thumb, maneuvering it to point away from him. "I'm afraid that's not possible. You can't leave; you're a suspect." He turned to face the rest of the party. "All of you are suspects until eliminated. Clue begins!"

"Is this a joke?" Hermione asked Ginny, wanting to go home but mildly curious as to what will happen. Ginny had no time to reply as Sheldon continued talking.

"Here," He motioned to Snape's body. "Lies a man who was hated by many, all of which had the means and opportunity to kill him. The knife will have no fingerprints, his body no sign of a struggle, so we must go by statistics and logic."

"So you're going to _guess?"_

Sheldon sniffed. "No, I never guess. I will propose a hypothesis and support it until it becomes a fact. Someone in this room has killed this man, and no one is leaving until the culprit is caught."

The doors shut, the windows bolted, and the furniture moved to one side to ensure no one could hide.

"Let us begin." Sheldon walked over to Harry, standing a foot taller than the war hero. He stood uncomfortably close, and Harry took a step back. "A sure sign of guilt," Sheldon noted to the crowd disdainfully. "Now, Harry Potter, you hated Snape, correct?"

"No." Harry replied in a bored voice.

"But you _did._" Sheldon strode over to the pensieve and brought it down to the floor, watching as it shattered and the contents spilled, mixing in with Snape's blood. "He tormented you in school, he 'killed' Dumbledore, as if anyone could kill Dumbledore." Sheldon sniffed again. "And he also had sweet, sweet coitus with your best friend."

Harry choked. "Ron?"

"Honestly!" Sheldon rolled his eyes. "Your _other _best friend."

Harry turned to Hermione, who was smiling sheepishly. Sheldon gazed at her. "Though, _you_ also have the motive. How tedious it must have been, listening to him drone on and on about potions. A superb motive."

"No it's not…"

"Enough!" Sheldon raised his palms, whipping to stare at McGonagall. "Ah, Minerva, how long it's been. Still have that _murder_ streak in you, hmm?"

McGonagall looked bored. "Dumbledore treated it like a god and the phoenix was better off dead."

"B-But…" Dumbledore looked up, stroking Fawkes. "Fawkes is here. I never had another phoenix."

"Yes you did!" Sheldon piped up, taking another long drawl from his pipe. "Minerva here bludgered it to death one evening with a hammer out of jealousy. She called me in to clean up the mess, and I bought another phoenix for you."

Dumbledore dropped the bird.

* * *

><p><strong>This seems like an appropriate spot to stop. I wrote this a while ago but never finished it, and out of a desire to post it before I'm "supposed" to, I decided to make it chapters.<strong>

**This means it'll probably never get finished. But it's a crackfic, so…**


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